Pet Song

I want to write something today, but I'm not sure what. So, I'll just let things come out and we'll see where they lead. Today is Saturday. It's been overcast and chilly all day...not sure if I'll need to bring in my potted petunias. I've been feeling very emotional today. I find myself welling up with tears quite often. I'm alone today. My husband is working. I generally like some time alone. I need it.

I'm not really alone. My babies are with me. I have three dogs and two cats...my babies. Cheyenne, a big, beautiful, black rescue dog, is going to be 15 years old in the fall. My husband found her when she was about 8 weeks old, abandoned in a field, jumping and playing, never knowing she was destined to become a coyote's dinner. He brought her home. There has never been a happier, go with the flow type animal. The best word I can think of to describe her is soulful.

Marley is 13 years old. We got him from a friend who was trying to find homes for a litter of puppies. Originally, we were going to look at another pup she had described to us. But, when she called the puppies to come out of the shed, we couldn't take our eyes off of him. He is mostly white, with black and deep brown accents around his face. To this day, some of his toenails are pink. In many ways, he is the exact opposite of Cheyenne. He is easily frightened and wary of the world. He is strictly a family dog...our family dog. I'm not sure he'd be living so long in another family. We have always accepted him for who he is, and he has rewarded us by being a loving and very loyal dog.

Star is also going to be 15 this fall. She is my cat. I found her before my husband moved in with me. She was so tiny. She was sitting on the window ledge of the St. James Hotel, in Cimarron, meowing like crazy. Previous to this, I had never wanted a cat. I didn't identify with them at all. But, as soon as I saw her, I picked her up and took her into my home and heart. I named her Star because she was all black, except for one, tiny white spot on her throat. She has taught me so much. She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. She sleeps behind my knees most nights. She is feisty. She still goes outside every day. She runs and climbs trees. You would never guess her age.

Peanut is 12 years old. He was my mom's dog. I got him for her after the humane society made a trip to my school, with shelter animals, in an attempt to teach kids how to care for pets. He is a small, brownish red terrier mix. I first saw him sitting in the middle of a group of first graders on the gym floor. He was so gentle with the kids and so cute, I asked the people from the shelter to hold onto him. I said I'd come adopt him at the end of the day. My mother loved him dearly. When I finally had to put her in a nursing home, she kept asking why she didn't have Peanut anymore. I brought him to see her several times. It was a heartbreaking situation for all involved, including Peanut. After she passed, he became ours. I feel terribly responsible to keep him safe and happy.

Last, but certainly not least, is the ever elusive Raven . She is a three year old black cat my husband found wandering around the St. James, after work, one day. He brought her home the way I brought Star home...immediately. She is most definitely his cat. I hardly see her if he's not home. She has only begun to let me pet her. She is an indoor cat. Raven is very different from Star...very innocent.

We had another...Comet. He was 11 years old. He was the son of Cheyenne and Marley. Cheyenne had one litter of puppies before we had her spayed. There were eight puppies...all healthy and beautiful. It was difficult to give them up. We decided to keep one. We chose Comet. He was the last to be born, and my husband had to start him breathing. He died last October, quite suddenly, in our living room. The pain of losing him was more than difficult to bare. He was a joyous, large brown and white mutt, with a white comet tail running down his back, and a passion for chasing the frisbee.

Well, now I know why I've been so weepy all day. I think about losing my babies more and more lately. I try to focus on the joy they have brought to us. I try to focus on what good lives we have given them. Still, some days the idea of losing them makes me so sad. They are so much more than animals. Loving them has helped me learn to be more loving, more patient, and more compassionate. For that, as well as all the years of joy they have given, I will be forever grateful.

Life must be lived one day at a time, sometimes, one moment at a time. It is bittersweet. On this day, in this moment, all my babies are happy and well. I can't ask for more.